by Gerry O'Hara
“Is he in?” She purposely did not use Cash’s name. They both knew who “he” was.
“I’ll buzz to see if he’s free.”
“Don’t bother, Paige. If he found it necessary to have me chase across town to pick up these papers, they must be top priority.” Buoyed by her assertiveness, Christie marched forward, perfunctorily rapped on the door, and charged inside. Cash looked up, startled. A questioning frown crossed his face, but quickly faded. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.
“You don’t have to thank me; it’s the least I can do to make things easier for you while you work with me.”
Christie cocked her head to the side. “Easier? Thank you? What are you talking about?”
“The car.”
“The car! I hate to sound ungrateful, but I would rather put taxi fare on my invoice. A flashy car tends to compromise my position here.”
“Compromise your position?” Cash laughed. “The Mustang didn’t cost any more than a four-door sedan, so I thought…”
“That I’d be thrilled to have a wild horse in my stable? It’s a thoughtful gesture, but I don’t appreciate the strings attached to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can hardly keep up with my own work without having messenger service added to the job description.”
“I’m sorry you think of it that way,” Cash said. “I was caught in a bind and since you are working on the case, it never occurred to me that you would mind.”
“You didn’t give me an opportunity to mind.”
“Slow down! I apologize; I didn’t realize it would be an imposition. It won’t happen again.”
She sat down and brushed her hair from her face. “It’s been a rough day. I do appreciate the car, even though I think it put Paige’s antenna up.”
Cash smiled. The lines around his eyes crinkled and he looked boyish. Her irritation evaporated. He leaned forward and she watched his dark eyes focus on her face. She tried to avoid eye contact, tried to remain serious. He reached toward her and she leaned backward.
“The file,” he said. A smile teased his lips. “All I want is the file. You didn’t think I was going to make a pass at you?”
“I’m glad that you view your office as a place of business and not a pleasure palace.”
“I’m flexible,” he retorted. “When the timing is right, we can toss the rules to the wind.” He plucked a carnation from the bud vase on his desk and pressed it into her hand.
Twirling the carnation around, she tried to come up with a smart retort. Finding none, she settled on a friendly good-bye and left.
When she returned to her office, she found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts were at odds. Uppermost was a nagging guilt about questioning Cash’s motive for giving her a car. They both knew that driving in San Francisco was impractical. The city had efficient public transportation, rush-hour traffic was nerve-racking, and parking was at a premium. When a case necessitated a great deal of time and travel, or if she had to set up her equipment on site rather than drive her own car, she often accepted the use of a courtesy car. Nothing quite so trendy as Cash’s offering, however.
Under other circumstances, she would have accepted the car without question. A few things made this situation different, though. She did not want to add food to the office grapevine. She had hoped to keep their relationship visibly low-key, but now that he had given her the Mustang, that was near impossible.
Her attraction to Cash kept growing. The chemistry between them sizzled, and although she knew she could get burned, she was willing to chance it. Not only did he excite her emotionally, it was exhilarating to be with someone who spoke the same language—caseloads, crime, and investigation.
Christie rested her chin on her hand and forced her attention back to the tape recorder. She had to concentrate on her work or she would not have the report ready as promised.
It took the better part of the afternoon to complete the job. The technical data, including enlargements of the holographic will and a random selection of diary pages, showed no disparity in the handwriting. The soon-to-be-rejected heirs would cry foul when they received their copy of the report, but she had no doubt that her account would hold up to courtroom scrutiny.
She stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. Before leaving the office, she called the messenger service and requested express delivery. Stepping into the snappy convertible lifted her spirits. She could not repress a smile. Cash had been sweet to surprise her. She had given him a grudging thanks only because she had been thrown off guard. It seemed obvious that he’d paid a premium for the convertible compared to the rate on a standard midsize vehicle and, admittedly, the Mustang was more fun than the economy cars she’d driven on previous out-of-area assignments.
The following day, driving down Union, a large advertisement in a shop window caught her attention. She pulled over, found a parking space, threw a handful of coins in the meter, and went inside the store. A clerk assisted her and within half an hour her selection was complete.
Arriving at Cash’s office building, she parked in the underground garage and rode the elevator to the lobby. She asked John, the young man at the information kiosk, if he could assist her. They rode the elevator back to the parking garage. He hauled the boxes out of the Mustang’s trunk and stacked them on a dolly. A bulging plastic bag bumped against Christie’s hip as she followed. A few minutes later, she walked into Cash’s office; John pushed the dolly behind her.
“Uh, can I help you, Christie?” the receptionist asked.
“Thank you, Paige, but John has it under control.” She nodded toward the young man. “Is Cash here?”
“No, but I expect he’ll check in before long. Did you want to leave that?”
“We’ll just take it into his office, if it’s okay with you,” Christie replied.
It was obvious that the receptionist was curious; Christie smiled to herself.
In Cash’s office John placed the larger box on the desk. “I’ll help you unwrap these and collapse the boxes and bring them downstairs.” He pulled a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket and pulled the blade open. With a swift slide along the top of the box, he slit the packing tape, then carefully removed the contents.
“Where does this go?” he asked.
“If you could put it on this shelf, I’d appreciate it.”
When John finished breaking down the boxes, he put them on the dolly and pushed it toward the door.
“I couldn’t have managed without your help, John. You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”
John’s face reddened slightly. Obviously no one had bestowed knighthood on him before.
Christie took an empty water pitcher from the desk and refilled it in Cash’s private bathroom. Twenty minutes later, the project was completed and she admired her handiwork. A gap in Cash’s huge bookcase had caught her attention a few days ago. There were so many books, and yet so much empty space. She hoped he would be pleased with her gift.
A few minutes later, Paige rapped on the door, and then opened it a crack. “Christie? Cash is on his way over from the courthouse; he asked if you would wait for him.”
The receptionist stepped closer until she was inside the room. “Ohhh,” she murmured, staring at the aquarium ensconced between a set of maroon leather–bound law books.
“It’s beautiful. What a lovely idea.” She walked up to the bookcase and peered into the tank.
“I thought he needed a stress-buster, and they say that watching aquarium fish is relaxing. I hope he likes it.” All of a sudden she was assaulted by a chink in her confidence.
“Of course he will.”
Christie sat in the big leather wing chair and waited. A couple of times she contemplated bolting. But the desire to see Cash’s reaction won out and she stayed.
She didn’t have long to wait. She could hear Paige telling Cash that Christie was indeed in his office. The timbre of his voice brou
ght Christie’s insecurity to the forefront. She wished she could curl up in a ball and disappear. What a silly idea, giving him a fish tank. Maybe he liked the empty spot in his bookcase, perhaps he had planned it that way. Where had she gotten the crazy notion to invade his private space? He was going to be furious with her, she was convinced of that. Absolutely furious!
The door swung open and she stood to face her fate.
“Paige said you have a surprise for me.”
Leave it to his receptionist to spill the beans. “I…yes, I—” She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. She swallowed; she was sure the gulp could be heard all the way down Market Street. How had she put herself in this predicament? How presumptuous of her!
“Is anything wrong?” He moved closer and reached for her hand. The warmth of his grip suffused her with a jolt of confidence, and she nodded toward the bookcase.
He turned, released her hand, and stared at the aquarium. He did not say a word. She wanted to run, fly from his office, and find sanctuary at her desk, or in her apartment. Right now she would even welcome cat hair on her dark pants, just to know she was in familiar quarters with Tosha affectionately clinging to her legs.
“I can’t believe this,” he said.
Christie looked at her feet, unable to bring her gaze to meet his. He hated it. Absolutely hated the aquarium. If only he realized her motive before passing judgment.
“This is fabulous.” He moved closer to the tank. “I don’t know much about tropical fish, but I recognize this one. It’s an angelfish, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She gulped. “They are so regal-looking, I thought it would add class to the tank. There are a couple of neon tetras”—she pointed—“and a pair of black mollies. I didn’t want to get too many fish, because I thought you might enjoy choosing the rest yourself.”
Cash put an arm around her and drew her close. “This is a great present, and I’m certainly not going to give you the old cliché ‘you really shouldn’t have,’ because I’m glad that you did.”
“It’s supposed to be soothing. Watching them, I mean.”
“I could use some of that.”
“You could use a lot of that,” she replied.
“Let me take you to dinner, and maybe you can come up with more ideas on how to soothe me.” He gave her a mischievous grin.
“I’d love to go to dinner, but I warn you, my relaxation techniques end with this project.”
“What a disappointment.” He pulled her firmly into the circle of his arms and brought his mouth down on hers. She felt the heat of his kiss, and she responded. He drew apart from her just long enough to say, “Umm, I think I just found the best secret weapon against stress, and I’m all for it.”
“Behave yourself, or dinner’s off.”
“I can’t promise, but I’ll try,” he teased.
“I’ll bet,” Christie retorted. “Still, dinner does sound like a pleasant idea. Where are you taking me?”
“Seafood? Steak? Chinese? Italian? What’s your choice? In food, that is.”
“A nice dish of pasta with prawns and scallops sound good to you?” she asked.
“I have just the place, but I hope the romantic atmosphere doesn’t tempt me to break my promise.”
“For good food, I’ll take a chance,” she replied.
On their way out, they said good night to Paige, who was already packing her tote bag, ready to make a quick exit. “Nice aquarium,” she remarked, with a wink toward Christie.
“Yes,” said Cash. “Quite a surprise. Miss Hamilton never fails to amaze me.”
She gave him a gentle elbow in the ribs, and he tried to contain his laughter. Christie knew that tomorrow, by midmorning, the entire staff would know about the fish tank. And she was sure that by the end of the day the story would have grown considerably.
Dinner was delightful. Afterward, they walked through Ghirardelli Square. They stopped in the chocolate shop and Cash bought them each a truffle.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t have dessert,” Christie said. “Pure chocolate, through and through, is quite a treat.”
“Especially when it is Ghirardelli chocolate,” Cash agreed.
“Probably has more calories than our entire dinner.”
“Don’t spoil the mood,” he said.
They walked outside to where a small crowd had gathered around a mime dressed like a clown. A starched red-and-white ruffled collar framed his chalk-white face. His eyebrows arched in a frozen question mark, while his mouth was painted crimson and formed a surprised oval. His white-gloved hands moved slowly until he reached into a breast pocket and removed a large white handkerchief. He shook it into a parachute-like shape and blew his nose mutely while his body heaved up and down with the effort. Rubbing his nose in a final gesture, he then extended his hand and offered the handkerchief to Christie. She stepped back quickly and raised her palms in refusal. The crowd laughed. Realizing the humor, she joined the laughter.
A few steps away, a magician waved a traditional black wand over a top hat to draw spectators. He was appropriately suited in an old tux, the fabric shiny with wear. They stopped and watched him ceremoniously pull a bouquet of brightly colored feather flowers from the hat. He leaned over and tickled a young boy under the chin with the bouquet. The boy let go of his father’s hand and grabbed at the feathers, but the magician was too fast. He pressed the flowers under one arm, clapped his hands, and when he raised both arms into the air the bouquet was gone. There was scattered applause. The magician stepped forward, leaned over to say something to the child, and in a sweep of his hands, the feathers appeared once again. The applause was more enthusiastic this time, and the magician bowed to his audience.
Farther on, a young woman dressed in layers of flowing rainbow-colored chiffon spoke to passersby. As Christie and Cash approached, she touched Christie’s arm.
“Have your palm read, madam?” she asked. “See what’s in the future?” In an effort to gain Christie’s attention, she grasped her wrist. Startled, Christie drew away.
“Be a sport,” Cash said. “Make the lady happy.”
Christie had no intention of giving in to voodoo, but his remark sounded like a dare and she did not want to appear wimpy. She put her hand out and the woman cradled it in hers.
“Umm…” With her forefinger the woman traced the lines on Christie’s palm. “I see romance, adventure, mystery.” She paused a moment to look into Christie’s eyes. “There will be questions, important questions, but you will seek and find the answers.”
The fortune teller released Christie’s hand and looked at Cash expectantly. He withdrew a bill from his wallet and pressed it into the woman’s hand. Her head bobbing up and down, she thanked him profusely, and Christie knew that he had been generous.
“Romance, adventure, and mystery,” Cash repeated. “Interesting, but I’m disappointed I wasn’t included in the mix. You know: tall, dark, and handsome stranger?”
“First of all, you don’t fit the ‘dark’ description. Secondly, she uses an easy formula that I’ll bet every woman is pleased to hear,” Christie countered. “Not very original.”
Cash reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Something to look forward to, though, wouldn’t you say? The romance part, I mean.” He pulled her close in a spontaneous move that almost made her lose her balance.
A fortune teller, a balmy San Francisco night, a crescent moon, and an attractive man, she mused. No wonder her heart was hammering in her chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christie could hardly believe she had signed up for an art class. She had taken Margo’s rhapsodizing about painting to heart, and had plunked down $150 on art supplies, and an equal amount on class fees. What had she been thinking? There was no time for such frivolous pursuits.
She slammed the car door and tried to balance her easel, folding stool, and paint box while she trudged through the parking lot to the amphitheater. About a dozen people were ahead of her; most had set up their equipme
nt and looked eager to get started.
She removed the clip from her hair, ran her fingers through it, and stuck the clip back in place. She looked around, checking out the other people. Was she the only rank beginner? Their easels and wooden cases were smeared with old paint, while hers were pristine. She put the case on the ground and set up the easel. Others were already squeezing paint onto their palettes.
The instructor, Scott Cooper, introduced himself and told the class what he planned to cover during the morning session. “Before you put paint on your canvas, study your subject. Take time to know what you want to say with your paintbrush and palette knife. Is the foreground interesting or unimportant? What textures touch you emotionally? You want to paint what you feel, not just what you see. If you are only interested in reproducing a scene, a camera will do a better job.”
Time passed quickly. The instructor demonstrated techniques and lectured on mixing colors. He walked from easel to easel and gave each student advice on their work. Christie was pleased with the picture that was developing on her canvas. It would not win a ribbon, but you could tell it was a fountain surrounded by red geraniums. She took the instructor’s advice and did not mimic a camera. A black cat was dozing beside the flowers, not in reality, but in her mind and through her brushstrokes.
By the end of the day, she was close to finishing the painting. She stood back and appraised her work. It was pleasing. A few more hours at home and that would be it. The instructor walked over and examined her picture.
“Next weekend we’ll be painting in Big Sur. The coast, cliffs, and mist are an artist’s dream. Accommodations are available at the campground and at the lodge. I hope you’ll join us.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Christie. Your work shows promise.”
She was pleased with the instructor’s approval. Painting was relaxing. It also gave her a feeling of accomplishment apart from her job.
